Two Hours Too Late
by purdys pal
Summary: Pilot Episode AU. When Fiona arrived at the motel she discovered she had arrived two hours too late.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer, I don't own any part of Burn notice. This is all for fun._**

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**Two Hours Too Late.**

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_**That was all it took, for somebody else to take advantage of Michael's predicament. **_

The motel was a run down dump, so close to Miami International Airport that every couple of minutes the whole building shook as nearby planes took off or landed. It was the type of place where the only customers they got were the desperate or those not necessarily looking for a place to sleep. It was also the place where two days earlier Michael Westen's unconscious body had been dumped, the room paid for by one of the suited men who had dropped him off.

Laid out on a lumpy bed in a second floor room Michael Westen had been dead to the world and all that had happened for the last two days. He had woken a couple of times, to use the bathroom and to get a glass of water. But his mind and body needed rest and neither was taking no for an answer.

He was so out of it, he even failed to notice on the second morning of his stay, a maid rifling through his wallet looking for a contact number. The young woman had become so worried about the unmoving figure on the bed she had risked being accused of being a thief to get him help.

Five hours later the maid had finished her shift, happy in the knowledge some woman in New York City was leaving as soon as she could get a flight to come and take care of the near comatose man in room 214. As she walked across to the car park she glanced at the new model silver BMW pulling up on the street. Such vehicles were not normally seen stopping in the area but she'd just worked a long shift and after a casual glance she thought no more about it and got in her own car and drove away.

The driver of the BMW strolled into the motel reception with a charming smile firmly in place. A minute later this stranger had the room number they required and was walking briskly across the car park and up the stairs leading to the second floor. Entering the room, they took a moment to let their eyes adjust to the the dim light. Before going to the window, to peer out through the blinds. The smile vanished at the sight of a two man surveillance team of FBI agents sitting outside in their government issued car. There was obviously no time to waste, the figure turned and after taking one long step raised a leg and gave the bed a hard kick.

"Hey, no, no more." Michael Westen groaned one hand raised to ward off the attack he thought was coming. Turning to face this new threat to his life, he stared through blood shot eyes at the intruder.

"Aren't you dead?" He asked in disbelief, sitting up and putting his feet to the floor.

"That's the rumour Kid. Just don't tell my ex-wife any different." Larry Sizemore beamed his thousand watt smile at his protege. "You know I heard a really interesting piece of gossip this morning and I just had to come see for myself." He waggled a finger at the younger man. "You've been a very bad boy, or so the wet rags in DC are saying."

"Someone put a Burn Notice on me, Lare." Michael ran his fingers through his hair before giving the older man a suspicious look. "So what did you hear?"

"Oh you know, water cooler stuff. The great and good Michael Westen went off the reservation. Unsanctioned kills, oh and selling secrets. Really kid you should be grateful you're not sitting in Gitmo."

With a groan Michael got to his feet holding his ribs, going to the window he looked outside a feeling of dread settling over him. "Where are we?"

"Miami. Hey isn't that your home town? You can go see your Mom, play at happy families." Larry chuckled enjoying himself immensely.

Michael's lips thinned and he looked over at his old mentor. "Fancy doing me a favour. I need to find out what's happened, try to limit the damage, and I can't do it with a FBI tail. Think you can get rid of them for me? You know shoot one of them in leg. Set the other one on fire. Whatever you want, but do it in about ten minutes." He was already heading for the bathroom.

"I do this, will you listen to my business proposal?" Larry called out.

Michael's mind was already running through all the things he needed to get done as quickly as possible before his own government closed him down completely. "Sure whatever. Just keep those feds busy in ten minutes."

**()**

Two hours after Michael had slipped away from the motel, Fiona Glenanne got out of her taxi, and found herself staring at a crowd of onlookers surrounding her destination. Her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of police tape blocking the front of the motel, and the entrance to the neighbouring side street. Carefully making her way through the crowd she eventually reached the front. Desperate for information she scanned the crime scene while listening to every scrap of gossip coming from the crowd. Slowly she began to build a picture of what had happened.

On the side street, two bodies had been pulled from a burnt out car. The car was now surrounded by men in jackets emblazoned with the FBI logo. Meanwhile in the motel itself the receptionist's body had been found, hidden under the counter, stabbed through the heart.

Her eyes strayed to the second floor rooms, her blood running cold when she noticed the door to room 214 was wide open and she could just make out the shape of people moving around inside.

Having seen enough she quickly faded back into the crowd, and away from the multiple crime scenes. She had been surprised by her reaction to the news that Michael Westen lay badly injured in a Miami motel. The urge to drop everything and run to him had been impossible to fight.

She had told herself it was nothing to do with him being injured. It was to do with her getting some closure. If he was really hurt he wouldn't have the strength to run away. She could finally get the answers she needed. Then she would let him know exactly what she thought of him, and walk away with her head held high.

But now a cold chill crept up her spine as she realized whatever trouble Michael was in, was far worse than she had first thought. She wondered about his connection to the three dead bodies, and about where he had gone.

Reaching a bus stop, she joined the queue. There was no way she going back to New York now, besides an old enemy had been creeping about and asking questions trying to find her. Staying in Miami would throw him off the scent.

Getting on to the bus she sat down, she would get a room in the city centre and then start making inquiries of her own. A smile came to her face as she remembered something. Michael had family in the city, that would be the place to start. She was pretty sure if she nosed around his family he would come looking for her.

**()**

Michael walked along the crowded street in a daze, for the first time in over ten years he felt like his world was spinning out of control. His handler was refusing to take his calls. The damn man who he had considered to be his friend wouldn't even take the time to explain to him what had gone wrong. His bank accounts, credit cards every legitimate dollar he had earned was frozen. Inaccessible. And to top it off they had dumped him in the one place he loathed with a passion.

So now, as much as he hated it, he had no choice but to go to Larry Sizemore and ask for the man's help. His old mentor, the man who had nearly cost him his sanity, and his job was now the only person talking to him.

Just before Larry had left the motel room he had handed him a business card with a phone number on one side and on the other side in Larry's small neat handwriting a time and a place. _Carlitos __South Beach 2pm_.

Reaching into his pants pocket Michael searched through for change. He had hoped to find enough to take a taxi, however just like everything else in his life at the moment he had no such luck. With snarl of frustration he joined a queue at the bus stop. As he waited he took his mind off his broken ribs by coming up with the most painful and prolonged methods he could think of to kill the man who had burned him.

He found Larry sat out in the open, sipping from a small cup. "It's called a cortadito." Larry raised the cup as Michael took a seat facing him. "Delicious to drink and fun to say, cortadito." He almost sung.

"Glad to see you making yourself at home Larry." Michael waved away the waiter. "So what do you want?"

"You. I want to go back to work with you." He leaned forward. "I have money, the contacts. I can keep you safe."

"And what do I have to do for all this... What, generosity?"

"Nothing you're not already doing kid, and with me in charge you'll earn a lot more than a government paycheck."

"I didn't..." Michael began to protest, but Larry held up a hand.

"Oh don't try that whole boy scout routine on me Michael. I know exactly what you're capable of." He finished his beverage and handed Michael a brown folder. "This is the job." He then pulled out a thick roll of hundred dollar bills, dropping the whole roll into Michael's hand. "And this is for you to go buy some decent clothes and get a room for a couple of nights. Have a read and then give me a call. Let me know if you ever want to get to leave this dump."

Larry took a step then turned back leaning over the table so his mouth was inches from Michael's ear. "Oh, you should probably keep a low profile. That surveillance team, I did what you said... I shot them in the head and set light to them. So the Feds will probably be wanting a word with you." He stood up straight, grinning back at Michael's stunned expression. "Well you have a good day Michael. Call me later."

**()**

Sam Axe sat in a comfortable well padded chair, facing an old associate trying to hide a very slight case of envy. There was no doubting ex CIA operative Lucy Chen had done very well for herself since getting out of the spy trade. She had left the CIA before the job could claim her soul and now headed a private security company with a penthouse office over looking the Atlantic.

"This is it?" He asked waving the file she had handed him a few minutes earlier. "The guy has forty six hundred dollars, and this job. Well let's be plain here, is going to be a pain in the ass." He threw the file down on the desk top in disgust.

"Look Sam, you asked me for a job. This is it, I told him it's too small for us. So if you don't want it either, I guess the poor guy will go to jail." She shrugged her shoulders. There was one thing Lucy was very good at, and that was manipulation. She could tell she had Sam nailed, he was a sucker for helping the little guy.

"Ok I'll do it. But only because the lady friend has gone back to Colorado for Thanks giving." He grumbled.

"Thank you Sam." Lucy smiled pushing the file back towards him. "I'll give the client a call."

As Sam was getting to his feet, she brought up a subject that had been worrying her for the last couple of days. "Did you know they've burned Michael Westen?"

"Yeah, I think it's bullshit but what can we do?" Sam replied sadly. "I'll let you know how this case goes. Stay safe Lucy." He turned the door knob and headed for the elevators.

Tomorrow he had an appointment with an estate manager called Javier, tonight he had a date with a lawyer's wife in town for a mid week break.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Hours Too Late. **

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and alerts for this story. Also thank you Amanda Hawthorn and Daisyday for reading through parts of this for me.  
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**Chapter Two,**

"You should probably keep a low profile. That surveillance team, I did what you said... I shot them in the head and set light to them. So the Feds will probably be wanting a word with you...Well you have a good day Michael. Call me later."

Michael was too stunned to move at Larry's whispered words. Then as his old mentor sauntered away he began to feel an icy rage begin to build.

_Larry killed the two federal agents sent to watch him. Correction Larry deliberately killed two federal agents and then set their car on fire to make things difficult for him. It was his own fault, if he had been thinking clearly he would have never asked Larry Sizemore for help. But this was what he was reduced to, accepting favors from a sociopath. _

He opened the roll of bills Larry had handed him, three thousand dollars and the man had just pulled it out of his pocket like it was spare change. The anger hadn't dimmed, killing those agents was going to cause him an endless wave of grief. But the grim reality of his situation meant he needed money, and probably sometime soon he was also going to need tactical support. And nobody else was going to step up to help him out.

With his bank accounts frozen, he needed to earn cash to live, but with no job history he would be lucky to find anybody prepared to hire him. His only other choice was to offer his skills to the other side. China or North Korea would jump at the chance to get their hands on him. But he didn't fancy ending his days in prison waiting to get a lethal injection. So it looked like he was going to take a giant step back nearly fifteen years and start taking his orders from Larry again.

With a shake of his head, Michael picked up the receipt Larry had left beside his cup, realizing he had been left to pay for the undead spy's lunch. Snatching up the piece of paper Michael made his way over to the cashier. Sitting around brooding about the unfairness of it all was not going to help him find the man who had burned him. He had to find a place to stay, and then read up on the job he had just been offered. He needed money and working for Larry however unpalatable was the only offer on table.

Twenty minutes later standing on Collins Avenue Michael watched the people who were walking in and out of the various four star hotels. He spotted his problem straight away. From what Larry had told him, the FBI would be out hunting for him and any one of the dozen forty something year old businessmen going in and out of the hotel doors could be a federal agent.

He needed contrast, a background that would make any surveillance team stand out. A FBI field office was filled with sober individuals dressed in business suits, so he needed to find some place where everybody was just a jello shot away from alcohol poisoning. Walking along Collins Avenue, he headed towards the part of South Beach where the younger, drunker and semi naked hung out. If he spotted anybody who could walk a straight line that would be the fed.

He found what he was looking for at the Miami Sands, a cheap rate motel which looked like it was hosting a girls gone wild party. Drunken semi clothed kids out for a good time filled the pavement at the front and even more of them were hanging over the balconies. Throughout his long career Michael had never found a successful way to hide a gun in a bathing suit. If he couldn't do it, he doubted some fed stuck in the Miami field office would be able to either. Smiling at his cunning, Michael made his way through the partying crowd and up to his room.

Safely inside, he locked the door and pulled the curtains shut. Turning on the bedside light he opened the folder Larry had left with him. Inside he found two photographs, a well groomed middle aged man with the word Pyne scrawled across the bottom. The second was a heavy build blond haired man, a bit younger than the first. He was apparently named Vince. Putting the pictures to one side Michael started to read through the second sheet of paper.

Pyne had made his money during the boom in real estate. When the boom finished he borrowed heavily from some shady individuals, one of whom wanted his money back. Larry's client wanted his twenty million dollars back and several pieces of art work in Pynes possession. Which he called a late payment charge.

Vince was the reason Larry's rich and powerful client hadn't got what he wanted the first time he requested the return of his investment. The guy was ex special forces and a former mercenary. He had apparently killed the two men the client had sent, and that was why he had hired Larry.

So they needed to neutralize Vince, which didn't seem to be much of a problem, and then talk Pyne into paying his debts. Rubbing a hand over his eyes Michael tried to work out why this client had hired Larry in the first place, it was like using C4 to open a open a box of eggs. Expensive, unnecessary and ultimately messy.

Turning to the third sheet of paper Michael saw the problem and the reason for Larry being involved. A month ago just after the client sent his own men to negotiate getting his money back. Pyne reported a break in and the theft of twenty two millions dollars worth of jewellery and the coveted art work.

Attached to the third piece of paper were several newspaper clippings. Michael quickly scanned the headlines. The police however did have a lead, the operations manager a Cuban exile called Javier was in the frame. Larry's contract was to either get the money from Pyne or kill him. And get the paintings from the thieves by whatever means necessary.

Sitting back Michael thought about what he had read. There was nothing about it that warranted a visit from Larry or himself. Pyne was a greedy rich guy, as was the mystery client and from what he had just read the only person who going to suffer was this Javier. Michael just couldn't see an operations manager would have the contacts to get rid of stolen paintings. No, Pyne probably arranged the burglary himself and was using Javier as a fall guy.

Reaching over the bed to the phone Michael dialled Larry's number.

"A debt collector for some spoilt rich guy, it's a bit below you isn't it?" Michael asked as soon as the call was answered..

"My client is a powerful man who is used to getting what he wants and right now he wants the money he is owed and some paintings. Taking out a washed out special forces, meat head mercenary is just a bit of fun I added to the deal. You know how I feel about leaving witnesses." Larry told him. "Now if you want in, your cut will be twenty grand. You do a good job and we'll negotiate future contracts."

Michael thought about it for a minute. "It's twenty two millions worth of art Lare. Make it fifty grand and you have a deal."

"Thirty five, and you do all the leg work."

"Deal." Michael snapped it up. Thirty five grand would buy him a lot of answers.

"Good. Now I'll tell you the same as I tell all my clients and employees. You do the job, get out clean, if my name comes up or if I see the police sniffing around, I step in and clean up. And you know me Kid,_ I really do mean clean up_."

"You set the feds on me, and now you're saying you'll start killing everyone if the cops make an appearance." Michael complained.

"Don't underestimate yourself Michael. You moved through Moscow with half the FSB looking for you. You can do this. Oh and for gods sake get yourself a phone. The next time you call me on a public phone I might just decide to add you to my list of deadees."

Michael dropped the phone back onto the cradle when Larry hung up. He would find out where the paintings were being held, and convince Pyne that it was in his best interest to hand them and the insurance money over. If Vince got in the way Michael was confident he could deal with him, and Javier. Well the operations manager wasn't his problem.

_Contrary to popular myth the little guy rarely got a break._

He would check out Pyne, and the suspected thief Javier in the morning. But for now he was going to stay out of sight and rest up. He was use to sleeping in loud environments the partying didn't bother him. After a shower he lay down resting his sore ribs and dreaming about who he was going to bribe in his quest to find out who had issued the burn notice.

**()()**

After settling into her small room at the Courtyard motel. It had taken Fiona only an hour to track down the most likely address for Michael's mysterious family. Sitting on her bed with the phone book on her lap, it had at first come as a shock how little she actual knew about Michael Westen's family.

In the eighteen months they had been together she had learned nothing of value about his personal life. Oh she knew about his job, or at least a little bit. She had accompanied him on several assignments, as he liked to call it his tactical support. But whenever she had tried to get him to open up about anything to do with his personal life he would shut down, give her dazzling smile and change the subject. But that wasn't going to stop her looking, she knew he had been born and raised in the family home and that he had a younger brother. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Luckily there wasn't that many Westens in the Miami phone book. On her third phone call pretending to be a market researcher she discovered Madeline Westen.

A widow for eight years who had two adult sons. With a few probing questions Fiona learnt that neither son was married or lived at home, and that Madeline liked to keep herself occupied by attending various functions at a nearby seniors centre. By the end of the conversation Fiona was satisfied that she had found Michael's mother. After thanking the woman for her help she had ended the call, a warm happy glow of anticipation filling her tiny frame. She had found his family, which meant she was one step closer to confronting him.

To celebrate Fiona had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening, reinventing herself. Gone was the tough, trigger happy Irish gunrunner who had a successful business in New York. Now to all outward appearances she had become Fiona Glenanne, American South Beach party girl. High heeled wedges and short designer summer dresses replaced the boots and jeans she had worn on her arrival at MIA. She had even found the time to hide her naturally pale skin behind a spray on tan to suit her new persona.

**()**

Four am was Fiona Glenanne's preferred time to commit crime. She had discovered over the years that in the hours before dawn people were most likely to be fast asleep, and if they did wake up their senses were so dulled a quick blow to the head was normally enough to put them back to sleep. Dressed in casual jeans and a dark colored top she parked her 'borrowed' car a block away from her destination.

She made her way over to the house that backed onto Madeline's, and skilfully climbed the fence. At first she cautiously checked out the perimeter surprised when she didn't find even a simple alarm system and only old easy to pick locks on both the front and side doors. _What on earth was Michael thinking_ _leaving his family so unprotected?_

It took Fiona less than thirty seconds to pick the lock on the kitchen door. Stepping inside she closed the door silently behind her and began her search. The place stank of stale nicotine and seemed to be stuck in a time warp of seventies décor, and appliances. The coffee maker looked ancient as did the refrigerator. Out of curiosity she took a look inside a couple of the cabinets and wished she hadn't when she pulled out a can of peaches that went out of date in 1998.

Moving into the lounge Fiona ran her finger tips across the back of the couch, noting the worn spots which told of it's age. Then she spotted a high backed chair, next to a small table covered with a variety of medicene bottles. Examining each bottle in turn it appeared Madeline Westen was being treated for every known disease known to man.

Fiona was beginning to think she had the wrong address. There was nothing that made her think Michael had ever lived in this place. It was then that she noticed several photographs on a shelf. Picking up one showing two teenage boys, she recognized Michael's features, a surly expression on his face. Smiling that she had indeed got the right place she went looking for something she could use to help strike up a friendship with Madeline Westen.

Laying on the dining table she found what she was looking for. A hospital appointment card, for two thirty in the afternoon. It was ideal, she would go back to the motel get a few hours sleep, and she would still have time to go down to the pool to work on her tan before meeting up with Michael's mother.

On the way out she took a long look at Madeline's car, she would wait for her to go into the hospital and disable the vehicle. Then all she would have to do was be on hand to play the good Samaritan. From what she had gleaned from her earlier conversation, and from the aura of neglect in the house, Michael's mother was craving a bit of attention.

**()**


	3. Chapter 3

**Two Hours Too Late. **

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews. A Special thanks to Jedi Skysinger for all her truly tenacious research skills..**

**Chapter Three,**

As the sun rose over the Atlantic Ocean, and the last of his hard partying neighbours finally crawled into their beds. Michael was up, dressed and preparing for a full day of surveillance. Wearing a new shirt, and pants he had purchased the day before, he headed out to scout the nearest commuter parking lot. He had to get over to Pyne's address on Star Island and for that he needed a car. Renting a vehicle was out of the question, he didn't even possess a valid driving licence, and buying a vehicle apart from taking too much time would mean breaking into the money Larry had given him for expenses. Besides he had no plans to stay in Miami any longer than necessary.

So he hung around watching the commuters park their vehicles before heading off into the city. The beauty of a commuter parking lot was that after nine am the place was more or less deserted. Meaning once everybody had rushed off to their jobs, Michael could go looking for a suitable vehicle without having to worry too much about being caught.

He found a five year old Ford Taurus in good condition. Easy to break into, and unassuming, perfect for his needs. Two minutes after spotting it, he was driving out of the parking structure on his way towards the MacArthur causeway, and Star Island. Hopefully he would be able to return the car before the owner finished work with only the damage to the steering column and ignition to show it had been borrowed.

After driving passed the security gate Michael followed the road around the Island until he came to Pyne's home. It was about what Michael expected, a large impressive mansion hidden behind high walls and protected by electronic reinforced steel gates. Driving passed, Michael parked the Taurus further along the street and got out. He was pretty sure he wasn't getting in through the front gate without an invitation, so he needed to find another way inside.

As he was searching for a weakness in Pyne's security Michael noticed a car pulling up in front of the gates. Keeping out of sight he watched as the driver exited the vehicle.

"_What the hell_." Michael hissed, quickly fading further into the background. Even dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt, loose fitting cargo pants and flip flops and with his hair grown out from it's usual military cut Michael recognized his old friend.

_What the hell was Sam Axe doing in Miami? Especially now! _

Michael had always liked Sam Axe, on more than occasion he had trusted the man with his life. Sam had been on the SEAL team that had pulled him out of the mess Larry had caused in Chechyna and later on, he had helped clear him of blame for the incident in St Petersburg which had ended his partnership with Larry Sizemore permanently.

Because of everything they had been through Michael considered Sam Axe to be one of his very few trusted friends. He was tempted to step out into the open and risk rejection. That was right up to Sam walking up to Pyne's steel gates and gaining admittance.

_Was Sam involved with Pyne? This was not good_.

If Larry found out Sam Axe was sniffing around his contract, there would be hell to pay. Sam and Larry had a history. A history of hate, loathing and the wish to do each other harm. Michael decided that at least for now he would keep Sam's presence to himself, until he knew more about what was going on. As long as the ex SEAL wasn't there to interfere with him making the money he needed, he would do his best to keep Larry out of it.

After watching Sam disappear through the gates Michael went to find another more covert way inside. Going through the neighbouring property which had a more lax security system Michael found a way inside in time to see Sam stood beside a large infinity pool talking to another man Michael recognized as the operations manager Javier.

He became even more suspicious when Javier handed Sam a folder before leading him into the house. It all looked _very_ friendly, too friendly. When Sam came out an hour later Michael made sure he was out of sight. He was going to have to follow his old friend, and find out how deeply he was involved with Javier.

**()**

Michael was rather bemused at Sam's behaviour, the man had either completely lost all his SEAL skills and had turned into a womanising lush. Or he knew he was being followed and was treating Michael to a tour of all the bars along the beach front .

Finally his old friend settled down at a table outside a Cuban cafe to ogle the passing bikini clad women and tuck into a pork Cubano washed down with several bottles of imported beer. Michael wrinkled his nose in disgust and felt a wave of sadness at the change in his friend. He had heard there had been some trouble in Columbia and shortly afterwards Axe had retired. But to fall so far, just watching Axe made Michael even more determined to get back into the CIA's good graces.

After an hour Michael had really had enough of watching all the slobbish debauchery. When he had first seen Sam Axe and realized Larry wasn't the only person in town who could help him. Michael had hoped after he finished the job with Larry he might be able to talk his old friend into helping him out. After all Sam used to have contacts throughout the intelligence community, he collected buddies the way other people collected guns. One of them, if offered a big enough bribe might have been able to get him a copy of the Homeland Security directive.

But now he wasn't so sure, the man had obviously let himself go. Did he even have the necessary contacts any more? Michael sighed just looking at Sam Axe he could see he was a security risk. It was unlikely anybody of any importance still spoke to the ex SEAL, and it would be too much of a pain trying to keep Larry and Sam from killing each other.

Having made up his mind Michael folded up the newspaper he had been using to hide his features, and went to cross the street to confront Sam about what he had been doing at Pynes. He would ask his questions and then give Sam a stern warning to stay away from Star Island and a certain exiled Cuban operation manager.

However just as he was stepping out to cross the road, he became aware of another man joining Sam at his table. Michael recognized Sam's guest instantly, Barry Burkowski money launderer, fence and financial adviser to the Miami underworld. Michael watched with interest as the two talked briefly, and then Sam was on his way out while Barry sat back calling out to the waiter for a cafe con leche.

_Pyne or Javier had stolen the art, Sam had spoken to both and then made an appointment with Barry Burkowski, a man who would definitely know who to go to with hot paintings._

Michael bit his lip there was something going on, and before he spoke to Sam he needed to know what it was. As Barry's beverage arrived Michael slid into the seat vacated by Sam.

"Hey Barry." Michael smiled baring a row of pearly white teeth.

The money launderer studied his unwanted guest carefully, while plastering a welcome smile on his face. It was a skill he had developed over the years. Regardless of how he felt about the people he had to deal with Barry was always available and always courteous.

"Michael Westen, it's been a while." Barry answered smoothly taking a sip of his coffee.

"I got into town yesterday, and I'm in a hurry." Michael replied. "So I'll get straight down to business. What did Sam Axe want?"

"Michael, I have a code of ethics. I mean if it gets..." He paused seeing a coldness in the other man's eyes and the charming toothy smile beginning to fade. "Really? Please Michael."

"Barry, _Barry._ I thought we were friends." Michael's smile was gone, replaced by a menacing glare.

"We are, but I.."

Michael leaned over the table. "_Friends_ help each other, they don't keep secrets. Trust me when I say _you_ do not want _me_ as an enemy."

The money launderer's complexion paled. "Michael honestly if I tell..." He whined

"It's between us. Nobody else will ever know."

Barry dropped his head. "He was asking about some stolen art. Where it might end up. I gave him a name."

Michael's smile returned, getting up from his seat he moved round to sit next to the smaller man, his arm sliding around Barry's shoulders ignoring how the other man cringed at his touch. "_Barry."_

"No one gets hurt?"

"Nobody you care about." Michael answered.

"Here." He pulled out a business card. "Sam was going straight there."

Michael took the card and studied the address, before placing it in his pocket. "Thanks Barry."

"We friends now?" The smaller man asked.

"Sure." Michael was on his way out, if Sam was trying to find the artwork, it was obvious he hadn't been involved in stealing it, it was time for them to have a chat.

**()()**

Madeline walked out of the hospital, a cigarette ready for lighting between her brightly painted lips and her lighter clutched in her hand. As soon as she cleared the doors she flicked the lighter and took a long deep calming breath of nicotine. Exhaling slowly, she took a moment to enjoy the sensation before she set off across the parking lot to where her dark blue Cadillac Seville was waiting.

Sliding into the drivers seat she dumped her purse down on the seat and pulled out her latest prescription. Reading the name of the new drug she was adding to her collection. She mouthed the word sealing it into her memory. She would drop the prescription into the neighbourhood pharmacy and then go home and read all about this so called wonder treatment for her many problems.

Leaving the hospital she didn't notice the silver car shadowing her every turn. As the traffic thinned and she pulled onto a quiet street which led to the pharmacy she liked to use, the Cadillac shuddered and died. Pursing her lips, Madeline tried the key in the ignition the only sound a dull click. The car was completely dead. Sitting for a minute she peered out of the windows, it was just her luck nobody was around to help.

It was moments like this that she really missed Frank, her late husband regardless of what everybody else thought of him knew how to look after cars. Now she was stuck with an aging car with a habit of breaking down at the most inopportune moments.

Getting out her cell, she dialled her son Nate's phone number. No answer, not even message. He was obviously screening his calls again. She hadn't spoken to him for over three months. The last time he had been round at the house she had caught him taking money from her emergency fund. A cookie jar she kept on top of the kitchen wall cabinet filled with change and some five and ten dollar bills.

The only other number she had was a contact for Michael, her eldest son it had been over two years since they had spoken. He set her cards on her her birthday if he remembered, and he paid her medical bills. She hadn't seen him for nine years, he hadn't even returned home for Frank's funereal, even though she knew he had been informed.

Lost in her thoughts she jumped when she realized somebody was banging on her window. "Yes?" She gasped rolling the window down to stare out at a youngish woman with long auburn hair and blue-green eyes. "Can I help you?"

"Sorry I was just checking you were alright." Fiona smiled. "This isn't a very nice place to be waiting around."

"No, oh." Madeline stuttered not used to receiving kindness. "No the car has just died on me. I was calling for some help." She held up her cell phone.

"Really? Is somebody coming? I could have a look for you. My ex was a real car nut. If you pop the hood...I don't mind."

"Oh you don't have to." Madeline pressed the hood release and started to get out of the car. Watching as the tiny woman began to fiddle with the wires and leads attached to the engine. "Look honey you're going to get filthy, please my son is on his way."

Suddenly the young woman stood up and smiled broadly. "There I think I got it. Just give it a try."

Madeline was shocked when the Caddy sprung to life, the engine roaring away as she pumped the gas pedal.

"See you can give your son a call and tell him it's all fixed." She wiped her oily hands on her blue sun dress and held out a hand. "I'm Fiona."

"Madeline."

"Pleae to meet you Madeline, glad to have helped you." She turned as if to walk away but then turned back. "Say Madeline, do you know a good pharmacy around here? I have a prescription that needs filling."


	4. Chapter 4

**Two Hours Two Late.**

**A/N: Thank you to everybody who has reviewed this story. A special thank you to Amanda Hawthorn and Daisyday for reading through parts of this chapter.  
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**Chapter Four,**

Madeline led the way to the pharmacy, once inside the two women stood chatting while they waited in line for their prescriptions to be filled. Madeline was amazed at how much in common she had with the younger woman. By the time they walked out on to the street they had already made a date to attend a yoga class together.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow Madeline." Fiona waved the piece of paper that Madeline had written her address on.

"Remember the class starts at two Fiona, Michelle likes everybody to be on time," Madeline called back happily.

Slipping into the Caddy, she turned the key and nothing happened. She tried twice more before she gave up, angrily reaching into her purse for a cigarette. _Damn Frank for leaving me with this pile of crap._

"Madeline?" She looked up to see Fiona peering through the window at her. "Has it broken again?"

Ten minutes later Fiona had the old car running. "Look, let me follow you back, in case it stops again."

Madeline nodded, thanking her lucky stars that she had gone to her hospital appointment and met up with Fiona Glenanne. She led the way back to her home, with Fiona following closely behind. When she pulled up on her drive she rushed to unlock the front door to welcome her guest inside.

"You have a lovely home Madeline." Fiona commented as she stepped past Michael's mother and into the Westen family home.

"Thank you dear. Oh can you put my medicine down on the little table beside the chair." Madeline ushered her inside. She was positively beaming at having found a new friend as she made her way into the kitchen. "Would you like some iced tea dear?"

"Thank you that would be lovely." Fiona moved to the the large display case, picking up the photograph that she had looked at the previous night. "Are these your boys?"

Madeline came out of the kitchen, handing Fiona a tall glass. Taking the picture she looked at it fondly, her fingers gently ghosting over the faces of the two boys. "Yes, Michael and Nathan." She gave a small sniff before placing it back on the self. "They grow up so fast. Do you have any children?"

"No." Fiona answered with a small smile of regret. "My career sort of got in the way."

"Oh, what do you do?"

Madeline led the way over into her sun room and the two women sat down.

"I was in banking for a while, and then I ran a little export business in New York. But now I'm in Miami I'm not sure what I'll do. I have enough money to keep me going for a little while. Until I sort myself out." She looked at the older woman as if she had just come up with a wonderful idea. "Say, it would be lovely if you could come with me when I go looking for an apartment. I mean you being a native and all."

Madeline very nearly clapped her hands together in glee. But before she could answer there was a loud knock on the front door. "Sorry dear." Madeline was on her feet wondering who could be calling.

Opening the door she stared at two well dressed men standing on her doorstep. Both had neat haircuts and were wearing smart suits. "Madeline Westen?" Both men flash FBI badges. "I'm Special Agent Hernandez, and this is Special Agent Connors. We're here about your son. Michael."

Madeline fell back a step, then felt the comforting arm of her guest on her shoulder. "Is everything alright?" Fiona asked.

"Please come inside." Madeline gestured to the agents, and then turned to her guest. "Please would you mind staying." She couldn't stop her hands shaking. She hadn't heard from Michael in over a year, and now there was two federal agents on her doorstep. Her mind instantly went to the worse case scenario.

"Ma'am we need to speak to you in private." Hernandez gave Fiona a pointed look.

"Fiona is my friend." Madeline stated clutching at the younger woman's hand.

"Very well, can we please sit down."

Once they were sat down Hernandez folded his arms and stared at the two women. "Has Michael been to see you recently?" He asked.

Madeline felt a rush of relief, she was a little surprised when she glanced at Fiona and noticed the same relief on her face too. "No, why should he?"

"And you haven't heard from him either?" Hernandez didn't waste time answering her questions.

"He's in Miami?" Madeline's asked in a small voice.

"Yes ma'am he has been in Miami for three days, and we need to speak to him. Urgently."

"Well I'm sure he'll be calling round soon." She tried to hide the hurt that the first she knew of her son being in town was when two federal agents told her.

"Would you mind if we had a little look around. You know just so we can satisfy ourselves that he isn't here?"

Madeline's eyes flashed angrily, but over the years she had become used to having the police in her home searching for either one of her boys or for her husband. She knew there was nothing incriminating to be found so she nodded; If she agreed to them searching they would go and leave her alone.

"Knock yourselves out. Just don't make a mess." She pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Before turning back to her guest. "I'm sorry about this. Michael, he's my eldest he works for the government and we get all sorts of security checks. This is nothing to worry about."

Fiona was watcing the men, noticing how they split up as they went through the rooms. "Madeline shouldn't you be watching them?"

"Just let them get on with it. The sooner they're done the sooner they'll be gone."

Fiona had her own views about letting the police or any other government agency into the home. Having been brought up in a home where illegal guns and explosives could be found in nearly every cupboard or drawer no law enforcement officer ever got over the doorstep unless they turned up with a patrol of soldiers to back them up. Just letting these two men roam around unsupervised felt totally wrong.

"If you're sure, I mean..." Fiona was turning as far in the chair as she could, trying to keep an eye on what the agents were doing.

Madeline patted her guest's hand, the young women's concern was quite overwhelming, she couldn't remember the last time anybody had been that worried about her welfare.

**()()()**

Michael walked out of the cafe and stopped a little way a long the street. He held the art dealers business card in his hand, twirling it in between his fingers. There was really no need for him to speak to the man, he had faith that Sam would ask all the right questions then all he would have to do is get the answers from him. He would only have to visit the gallery if Sam didn't have all the information he needed.

Slipping the card into his pants pocket, he glanced up and froze just for a fraction of a second, before slipping into the nearest store. Hiding amongst the various souvenirs he eyed a blond haired man sat inside a beige Ford sedan, and a younger dark haired man further a long the street pretending to read a newspaper while leaning casually against a low wall. Unless he was very much mistaken the FBI had found him. These two were being cautious, separating so as not to be easy targets. Michael looked around expecting to see a tactical squad moving in on him. When he saw only tourists he knew he had to get moving quickly.

He spotted two kids weaving their way through the crowds on skateboards, these were local kids unless he was very much mistaken. With one more careful look, to check he was in the clear. He stepped out far enough to stop the kids.

"Hey." He smiled down at them, and pointed to where two cycle cops were talking to a couple of pedestrians. "See that cop... I'll give you guys 5 bucks each if you go over, and tell him that the man in that car over there tried to make you sit on his lap, can you do that?" He pointed to the fed sat in the car, and pulled out his wallet.

"Make it ten bucks each." The taller of the kids demanded, his eyes had grown large at the thickness of the wallet.

"Fifteen but you split it," Michael haggled. Searching for a five dollar bill to match the ten he had in his hand. He paused before handing the money over, "for fifteen I want tears."

The kid swiped the money from his hand. "Alright dog," and they were gone.

Watching from cover until the cycle cops moved in on the agents, Michael smiled as the blond in the car was dragged out and thrown against the car. This was better than he had hoped for, the cops spotted the agent's gun and soon the man was spread eagle on the hood of the Ford, while his younger partner rushed over trying to clear up the misunderstanding.

Walking away with a large grin on his face Michael pushed through the crowds of holiday makers feeling very pleased with himself.

He knew he was storing up more trouble messing with the agents because sooner or later he was going to have to deal with the FBI. There was no way he could get a burn notice lifted while under investigation for double murder. Which reminded him of his other problem; after this job he needed to find a way to ditch Larry.

**()**

Sam put his phone away and stepped out on to the street, the meeting with the art dealer had been very - _interesting._ He felt himself lucky to have gotten out without being dragged off to view a whole load of Greco-Roman nude wrestling statues.

Looking first one way, and then the other he started to walk towards his apartment. He was well aware of his shadow. He thought he had seen Michael Westen lurking on his tail, Barry's phone call had just confirmed his suspicions.

Until a few days ago Sam would have been happy to see his old friend. That was until he had a call to report to the FBI field office and had been informed of the burn notice and that Michael was in town. He had been ordered to report any contact he had with the disgraced spy on pain of losing his pension. Then only the day before he had another visit, this time not so friendly. Two agents came to his home and after searching the rooms, they informed him Michael Westen was wanted for questioning about the murder of the two agents who had been sent to watch him.

As he walked along the pavement Sam thought about the Michael Westen he had last seen a little over a year ago. That man didn't deserve a burn notice nor was he the sort of man to kill a couple of federal agents in cold blood. Personally Sam thought it was all bull hockey, Michael Westen couldn't have changed so much in a year, it had to be a mistake or a set up.

Arriving at his destination Sam went inside and called up the elevator. He knew Michael would get inside and read the number on the display to which floor he got out.

Once he reached his apartment he went straight to his fridge to get a couple of beers. Then he opened the balcony doors letting in fresh air. For a moment he stared out at the sea view. After a moment he turned back to place one of the beers on the small patio table before moving towards his front door.

Hearing the faint noise of the elevator doors opening Sam threw open his front door and stuck his head out.

"Hey Mikey, are you comin' in? Or do you plan on waitin' for a written invitation?" He watched as Michael spun round to face him. He was a little hurt when there was no 'happy to see you' smile. Instead his old friend faced him with a cold guarded expression.

"I wasn't sure of the welcome I'd get." Michael replied, making no move to enter the apartment.

"Oh don't worry about the welcome. I'm no longer considered clearance material. C'mon grab a beer." Sam took a swig from his bottle and disappeared inside.

A couple of seconds later he heard the door shut and turning slightly in his chair on the balcony he watched Michael walk through to join him. Michael moved like a cat on high alert, his eyes surveying the room as if expecting a trap.

"Take a seat you must be tired after following me around all day." Sam kicked another chair out from under the small plastic table.

"I assume you got word of my situation?" Michael commented, and took a seat. "So where did I slip up?" He asked with interest.

"Well, I thought I spotted you on Star Island, but then Barry called me told me you were around asking questions. You know you scared the little guy." Sam scolded, pushing a bottle of beer across the table.

Michael shrugged, deep down he knew Barry would warn Sam. But he didn't really care.

"So who told you about the burn notice?"

"Oh you know spies, a bunch of bitchy little girls and you're on the top of the gossip tree." Sam paused for a moment. Then took a deep breath. "Of course killing those two feds who had been sent to watch you has sent up all sorts of red flags. You shoulda come see me Mikey we coulda sorted this mess out."

"It's too late for that." He watched Michael put up his defences. "For what it's worth I didn't kill those men." He was on his feet now leaning out over the balcony.

"But you know who did?" Sam asked softly. When Michael didn't answer or face him, Sam felt a cold dread. Whatever his friend was mixed up in was bad. He had only seen him this shut down once before, a long long time ago.

"O-kay then." Sam didn't push for an answer. Instead he changed the subject. "So why were you hanging around Star Island?"

"That's what I was going to ask you?" Michael sat back down, cold unblinking blue eyes regarded Sam.

Sam knew demanding answers off Michael would get him nowhere the younger man was already shut down and if he pushed he would probably get up and leave. "I'm helping out a guy, a janitor working in one of the big houses. He is being used as a fall guy by a smarmy rich bastard to take the blame for a robbery. I've just got to work out a way of proving it."

He watched Michael carefully all the while trying to look like he was totally disinterested. Michael got back to his feet again, this restlessness a sure sign of his agitation. "And what about the art dealer? What did he have to say?"

"Javier's boss was trying to sell the paintings six months before the theft, but nobody wanted to pay what he wanted. They've not come back onto the black market so my guess is Pyne still has them stashed some place. I could do with getting into his safe see if he has any secret bank accounts or storage lockers. You know somewhere big enough to hide his so called stolen goods.

Finally Michael faced him. "I want you to forget about this Javier. Let him take his chances, if you must help him do it by letting the cops know about the art it'll give them somebody else to look at."

"Mikey what has this gotta do with you? Are you working for Pyne?"

At first he didn't think Michael was going to answer him. "No I'm working for somebody he owes money too." He gave Sam an apologetic look. "I need money, this isn't something I want to do. But there it is."

Sam banged his beer bottle down on the table top. "The first thing you should be doing is clearing your name with the feds. And then if it's money you need I'll go half with you on this job. It's not high paying but Lucy sends jobs my way on a regular basis."

"Lucy? Lucy Chen? Is she still in Miami?"

"Yeah brother, she's got a fancy penthouse office at that private security company she's running. You should go see her."

Michael shook his head. "Maybe later. I've got to do this job first." Michael placed his own beer down untouched. "I'll see you around Sam. Stay away from this Javier guy there's more than me looking into Pyne. I'd hate to see you get hurt." And there was the subtle warning.

Sam stayed on the balcony after Michael let himself out. He had to think of a way to reach out to his friend, before he went too far. Suddenly he got up from his chair. "Mike! Hey Mikey comeback here a minute."

He caught up with Michael at the elevator. "Mike if I'm going to abandon Javier, at least come with me when I tell him I'm dropping his case."

"It's none of my business Sam." He pressed the call button.

"I know but as a favor to an old friend, come with me... Please."

Michael threw his head back and with an annoyed huff he stared at Sam. "Fine. I'll come with you. But it'll change nothing."

"Thanks," Sam grinned. "Now just wait while I get some shoes on, and pick up my car keys."


	5. Chapter 5

**Two Hours Too Late.**

**A/N: Thank you to everybody who has reviewed this story and put it on alerts. A big thank you to Daisyday, Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi Skysinger who have all read through parts of this story for me.**

**Chapter Five,**

"Come with me... Please." Sam used his best hangdog expression.

It was on the tip of Michael's tongue to refuse point blank. He threw his head back in frustration. This is what he had been afraid of, Sam was going to try to sucker him into helping Pyne's operations manager. With an annoyed huff Michael stopped staring up at the ceiling, and turned his gaze back on to his friend.

"Fine. I'll come with you. But, it'll change nothing." He would do it because he owed Sam. Correction, he owed Sam a great deal. He would just have to keep his wits about him and be firm.

"Thanks," Sam grinned. "Now just wait while I get some shoes on, and pick up my car keys." He started to turn away, but turned back. "Hey no runnin' off while I'm getting my gear together."

"Just hurry up." Michael sighed, checking the time. He had things to do before breaking into Pyne's place. For one he wanted to send Dan Siebels a little something to get his attention. Something to remind him to answer his calls. He was thinking of something harmless, but would get Dan a lot of unwanted federal attention. Give him a taste of what he was going through.

Sam came out of his apartment, quickly locking the door before striding over to Michael's side. "O-kay then let's get going. Javier lives over in Little Havana, it shouldn't take too long."

"Great." Michael smiled, as they stepped into the elevator.

In the parking garage Sam identified his car but before he could do more than release the central locking, Michael snatched the keys out of his hand.

"I'll drive. I've seen how much you've had to drink."

Michael followed Sam's directions over to Little Havana. On the way Sam brought Michael up to date on what he had been getting up to since arriving in Miami.

"I tell ya Miami has been good for me. All the sun and good living. I've never felt better." He was slumped back in his seat, his right arm hanging out of the open window.

Michael estimated his friend had put on about forty pounds since he had last seen him, and the muscle tone honed by years of military service had all but disappeared under a layer of fat.

"Ah-huh and I think all the alcohol you've consumed has probably colored your judgement. How about that apartment? How can you afford the rent on a place like that on a military pension?"

"A lawyer's wife from Colorado who likes to spend most of her time in the warm embrace of a retired Navy Commander. She's down here for a week every month, and I get free place to live, and an endless supply of little blue pills." He chuckled. "You should unwind a bit Mikey."

"And these jobs you do for Lucy?" He couldn't help being a bit curious. Sam seemed so happy and relaxed.

"Oh every now and again she throws me a job usually something that's too small for her company to deal with, like this one. It warms the heart, you know. Helping out the little guy."

Michael swallowed and kept his eyes on the road. Help the little guy. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that. He mentally shook himself he was a big picture type of guy, always had been. Helping the little guy got you nothing but grief, and it was a waste of time.

"I tell ya Mike this fella Javier, he's getting a real rough deal..."

"We're here." Michael interrupted his friend, pulling the car over to the side of the road, he quickly got out. Sam was not going to make him feel sorry for this guy. He had enough troubles of his own.

Sam led the way along a neatly kept path to a large hardwood door, to one side was a large window through it it was possible to see a brightly decorated Christmas tree. Banging on the door they waited.

"Just tell him, you've discovered Pyne was trying to sell the art six months ago and that you'll go to the cops with the information. Tell him there's nothing else you can do for him."

Michael stopped speaking as the front door was flung open and a thickset Hispanic man sporting a welcoming smile grabbed Sam's arm pulling him inside. "Senor Axe, so good to see you, and you've brought a friend. Come in, come in." Michael found himself being dragged along with Sam.

"Do you want some coffee?" Their host asked, ushering them into his lounge.

"No." Michael tried to speak but was cut off.

"I'll make some coffee. This is my son David, David say hello."

A skinny child sporting a fading black eye looked up at the two men. "Hi." He greeted them in a quiet shy voice before going back to coloring in the picture he had just drawn.

"Mike why don't you sit here with David while I go talk to Javier. You know explain the situation to him." Sam gave Michael a little shove causing his legs to hit the coffee table, knocking him off balance and down onto the couch.

"_Sam_." Michael warned, fixing Sam with an angry glare.

"Two minutes Mikey," Sam waved him off before turning his back on his friend to follow Javier.

Knowing he wasn't going to win without making a scene, Michael stayed in his seat and risked a glance at the drawing the kid was doing, before staring straight ahead. He would make Sam pay for this.

"Are you a soldier?"

The question caught him off guard, unsure how to deal with the little boy he paused for a moment before answering. "No. Well yeah. Sorta, I guess." Michael shrugged, his eyes briefly flickering in the kid's direction before looking away.

"Are you going to shoot the bad guys that stole from Mr Pyne?"

_Yeah kid I am, but only after I've got the paintings and the money he owes to some other rich guy._

Instead he replied. "No, that shouldn't be necessary." He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"But what if they shoot at you?" David pressed.

"Well yeah, then I would shoot them." Michael answered bluntly.

Before the kid could continue to drill him further, Michael shifted his attention to study the interior of the house. It was a cosy place, the furniture and carpets were all old but clean and well cared for. There was a light scent of a floral furniture polish, and the smell of something appetizing coming from the kitchen.

Staring into the open plan kitchen Michael noticed Sam was leaning against the kitchen counter top, clearly _not_ telling Javier he was on his own.

Michael was more angry with himself than Sam. He'd known exactly what was going to happen, Sam was using Javier and David to appeal to his better nature. Or as Larry called it his soft side, his weakness. But using a child was a low blow even for Sam.

Javier led the way back to where Michael sat, and handed him a coffee.

"David go to your room." Javier ordered quietly.

"I can do my homework here." David stubbornly replied.

"We have to talk, go to your room."

David turned to Michael staring up at the man. "Do you want to see my room?"

Javier gave his son a stern look and David with a sigh got to his feet and collected his stuff from the table.

Michael watched, thinking about how his father would have handled the situation. At the first refusal to leave the room he would have been dragged out and locked in his room to wait for the beating that would follow later; after the guests had gone.

Javier sat down next to Michael, before giving his finally command to his son who was hovering near the stairs. "Go... Sorry about that." He apologized, as David finally went to his room. "Senor Axe, sorry Sam says you are a good friend. I want to say thank you, if I go to jail for this thing... My son he is all I have... He would be left alone."

Michael eyes narrowed, his lips thinned as he glared up at his friend. This was a step too far. He had been ready for a little emotional blackmail but instead Sam had completely ignored his orders. Sam stood back an innocent look gracing his features. Meanwhile, Javier was continuing to speak, oblivious to the looks passing between to the two men.

"You have experience with this type of thing?" Javier asked.

"Yes I do." Michael replied. "But..."

"You do investigations?" Javier interrupted, pressing for more reassurance.

"I, do - a lotta things." Michael continued to glare at Sam. As much as he wanted to tell Javier he wasn't there to help, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to turn this gentle, earnest man down. If ever somebody needed help it was this guy.

"I was watching TV with David when the robbery happened. The security code they used for the alarm was the master code. My code. I supervise the staff and set the schedules it looks bad."

"Yeah very bad." Michael agreed no longer listening as he tried to work out how he was going to help Javier, get Larry the money and the paintings. While keeping Larry and Sam apart. A massive tension headache began to build behind his eyes.

"The police, they took my passport told me not to travel. If they arrest me, my son David he is eight years old."

Michael shot Sam another murderous look. Sam smiled back serenely, he could already see cracks appearing in his friend's armour.

"Ok, leave it with me and I'll see what I can do." MIchael got to his feet, he wanted out of this happy home before it infected him even further. He was grateful when his phone began to ring.

"Well you sort out the details with Sam I'm going to take this, outside." He looked at the caller ID and his headache went up another notch.

Moving quickly he accepted the call as soon as he was outside.

"Hey Lare it's not a good time." Michael answered the call, stepping further away from the house.

"Michael. I'm just checking in. How are things?"

"Things are good you don't need to be checking in it's all under control."

Michael glanced over to where Sam was finishing up with Javier.

"Oh I don't know Michael. I think I should, the fact you're working with Sam Axe now and you're at the janitors house... Tell me you're not listening to that damn nurse maid again." Michael caught the hardening in Larry's tone.

Michael pulled the phone away from his ear cursing under his breath as he tried to keep control. Calming his nerves he plastered a fake smile on his face, Larry had to be nearby, watching him. "I'm just making friends Lare. I need to learn the lay out of Pynes house if I'm going to get inside and search the place. The janitor has given me the security codes and a drawing of the interior."

"You think Pyne has the pictures?"

"Yeah I think so."

"Good, dump the boy scout. I'll meet you tonight and we'll go talk to Pyne. Explain that he needs to pay his debts, you know how much I enjoy a little Q and A." Michael could tell Larry was almost salivating at the thought of interrogating Pyne. "We can have this all sewn up by the morning."

Michael noticed Sam was finished and was coming in his direction. "Larry. I'll go to Pynes place alone. No need for you to be involved, I'll call you tomorrow when I know more." He hung up and turned to face Sam, fake smile still firmly in place. "I guess your happy with yourself?" He snapped.

Sam held up his hands in mock surrender. "Mike I swear I did nothing but show you the reality of the situation. You coulda turned him away at anytime."

"Fine, but there are rules." Michael scowled. Sam was really pushing the bonds of their friendship. He caught hold of the older man's arm. "From now on we do things my way. I'll go into Pynes tonight, see what I can find, but you back off. No more favors."

"I can help Mike." Sam wanted to help.

"Oh you've done enough." Michael replied shortly, getting into the drivers seat of Sam's car.

Sam sat quietly, letting Michael work things out for himself. He had given the younger man a nudge in the right direction and now all he could do was wait to find out if it was enough. He just wished he knew what else was going on in his friends life.

Michael clutched the steering wheel tightly, working with Larry was bringing back a lot of bad memories. The death of the FBI agents was weighing on his mind, he should have never asked Larry to help him get out unseen. He should have known asking Larry for anything was a bad idea. So why had he done it? That was easy, he was alone and desperate and Larry was a familiar face.

When he had woken up in the motel room he had been in shock. His own government had disavowed him, they had done it in the middle an assignment and they had very nearly got him killed. Being woken up by Larry nearly kicking him off his bed had been another shock. Larry Sizemore was meant to be dead. He had seen him with his own eyes walk into an oil refinery just before it exploded.

If he had just waited, he'd had no idea that Sam was in Miami, or that Lucy Chen was still running a successful business in the City.

He stopped the thoughts dead. Larry was paying him thirty five thousand to collect on a debt. Sam was offering him twenty three hundred, to clear a man of robbery. He had to be cold, unemotional. Somebody had set him up, forced him out into the cold. He needed money, if he was going to get back in and find out who had burned him.

He risked a sidewards glance at his friend, lastly he wasn't about to drag Sam down with him. He owed the other man far too much to do that to him. As they neared Sam's apartment Michael slowed the car and brought it to a stop.

"I'll go into Pyne's tonight and come to see you in the morning. If I can help Javier I'll do it but I have to collect the money Pyne owes first."

**()()**

After Madeline had shown the two FBI agents out of her house, she turned back to where her guest was getting up from her seat. "Are you going too." She asked, a little bit of a whine creeping into her voice. It would just be her luck if this young woman was frightened off by the FBI snooping around.

"Yes, I'm sorry. But I have to make some important calls and it's getting late." Fiona placed her hand gently on the older woman's arm. "I'll be back tomorrow to take you to yoga, and if you have time afterwards maybe we can go get a coffee."

"Oh that would be lovely." Madeline beamed.

She stood at the door watching her new friend drive away, as the car disappeared around the corner she stepped back into her home and closed the door behind her. Lighting up another cigarette she picked up the empty glasses and dropped them into the sink before going to check that the two federal agent hadn't made a too much of a mess when they searched the house.

All the doors to her closets were wide open, as were the drawers on the dressers. _Did they really think Michael would be hiding in her closet? _She slammed the doors shut and leaned back against them.

_This was just typical of Michael,_ she thought, looking around the room. _As soon as I get a new_ _friend he has to do something to ruin it_. _Mrs Anderson, it was the same then. They get new neighbours, a nice couple and they are getting on like a house on fire. Right up to Michael flying out of the front door with Frank on his heels._ Madeline blinked away the tears that particular memory brought forth. _She remembered the look of horror on the poor woman's face when Michael grabbed up one of the decorative rocks from the flower border and hurled it at his father's head._ _It was the first and last time Mrs Anderson had spoken to her in the five years that they lived in that house._

Straightening herself up, Madeline pushed the drawers shut and walked back into the lounge. _Well she wasn't going to let him ruin this for her. _Bending down in front of the TV she searched for her yoga video. She hadn't been to yoga for five months, she wanted to at least look like she knew what she was doing.

**()**

Fiona drove away from Madeline's trying to control her anger at the way Michael treated his own family. He hadn't spoken to his mother in over a year, hadn't visited in nearly a decade, and had even missed his own father's funeral. All her own suppressed feelings of abandonment were being brought back to the fore.

"Oh when I get my hands on you Michael Westen." She muttered angrily, her foot pressing down harder on the gas pedal.


	6. Chapter 6

**Two Hours Too Late.**

**A/N: Thank you to everybody who has reviewed this story. Also to Amanda Hawthorn and Daisyday who read through parts of this chapter for me, and lastly a big thank you to Jedi Skysinger who Beta'd for me even though she has her own stories to work on.  
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**Chapter Six.**

Abandoning her stolen car in one of the many public parking lots close to where she was staying, Fiona made her way back to her room at the Courtyard motel. It looked like if she wanted to make contact with Michael she was going to have to stay awhile longer than she had first expected. If he hadn't spoken to his mother in a year, he was unlikely to be keeping tabs on her now.

The hope she was going to be able to see his stunned expression when he walked into his mother's house to find her sitting sipping a cup of tea at the dining room table was obviously going to stay a fantasy. Instead she was going to have to hunt the bastard down and drag him over to see his poor mother. Madeline definitely deserved better than she was getting from either of her sons.

Letting herself into her room she threw her bag onto the queen size bed.

_What sort of man stays away from his family for nearly a decade? _

She sat down to pull off her shoes. She couldn't imagine not speaking to her family for a year. She called her mother every week and normally managed to see her brothers at least once or twice a year.

_He even missed his own da's funeral! Disgraceful!_

Moving the pillows, she propped herself up on the bed and took her cell from her bag. If she was going to stay in Miami, she was going to have to start earning money. All her big toys were still in storage in New York and for now they would have to stay there. Old enemies from Dublin had traced her to the Big Apple and were now poking around, determined to find her and stick her head on a pole. She had left everything of that old life behind and, until she knew it was safe, everything there would have to stay safely hidden away.

That meant she was going to have to build up a new business, buy or steal some stock and find new clients. She couldn't risk using anybody that had a connection to New York. Scrolling through her contact list, she realized virtually every name she had was useless. Biting down on her bottom lip, she was beginning to think she was going to have step into the South Florida gun running community cold.

One name caught her eye, Marcus Dwyer; he was technically a New York contact she had bought a shipment of Semtex off him over two years ago. But he had been based in Miami. It was a long shot. Gunrunners normally didn't keep the same numbers for long. She pressed 'send' and was surprised when the call was answered on the third ring.

"Hey, Marcus," she spoke into her phone. "It's Fiona Glenanne," rolling her eyes when she got no response.

"Fiona from New York," she added returning to her native accent.

"Yeah, I remember you. What can I do for you?" She could hear the suspicion in his voice, and she didn't blame him one bit.

"I'm in Miami, visiting an auld friend an' I'm gonna be around fer a while. Dar ya have any little jobs I could dar fer ya?"

"You're hiring out? That's a bit below you isn't it? I thought you had your own supply lines?"

"I do but I canna very well use 'em down here na' can I? I'm setting up a fresh." She dropped the Irish accent on the last sentence.

She listened to heavy breathing and then heard him mutter something to somebody else in the room with him. Finally he spoke into his phone.

"I tell you what, I've gotta shipment of P90s. The guy who wants them still owes me for the last lot of merchandise I sold him. If you meet up with my boy Dougie and help him get the twelve grand this guy owes me plus the twenty for the P90s, I'll help set you up."

"You'll help set me up? My reputation is known all the way along the Eastern seaboard."

"Yeah it is, Fiona, but you've just told me you've got no stock and nowhere to put any stock you bring in. I'll set you with a coupla safe storage locations an' if you do a few jobs for me, I'll introduce you to a couple more gun runners and refer you to a coupla of the bigger arms dealers. It saves you the boring job of hunting out storage and making new friends. I'll give you five percent for this job if you get me all the cash."

It was her turn to pause, thinking things over. Making friends was very low down on her list of favorite things, along with scouting storage facilities and doing research. Working a couple of jobs for Marcus would definitely be preferable and would free up time to hunt for Michael.

"Fine, I'll do it," she huffed, "For ten percent. I have expenses."

"Okay ten, but for ten I want full payment off the guy."

The money he was offering would allow her to put a down payment on a condo. Now that she knew she was going to be staying a while, she needed somewhere more permanent to stay. Then she wouldn't have to pretend with Madeline when they went house hunting.

"Tell me where to meet Dougie."

"The Irish Pub near Simpson Park, you know it?"

"I'll find it."

"Tonight, eleven o'clock. Do you have anything with you? Or do you need me to supply you?"

"I'll pick up something for tonight. How will Dougie recognize me?"

"You look the same as last time we met?"

"Yes."

"Go inside and he'll find you." Marcus hung up.

Ten percent of thirty two thousand would hopefully give her enough to cover renting a condo. She would let Madeline guide her choice of area. Good or bad made no difference to her, sometimes bad was good.

Her good mood faded slightly as she realized that when she next spoke to Marcus or "his boy Dougie," she was going to have to get the name and number of a reputable money launderer. The thirty three hundred dollars she was getting off Marcus would get her a place to live and pay her expenses, but for only a short while.

She needed to get at her own money back in New York and Ireland. But with her enemies closing in, she was going to need the skills of an expert to arrange it all for her. _God, she hated money launderers. _

Everyone she had ever met was an untrustworthy weasel. The last one she had dealings with she had chased all the way back to Belfast. The bomb she'd left under his car had spread his remains over half of the city. She had heard they were still finding parts of the lying, thieving good-for-nothing bastard six months after he departed this world.

**()**

"_Oh, yoga? I know a great yoga instructor. We should go together."_

What had she been thinking? Madeline lit a cigarette off the remains of her last one.

She leaned heavily on the kitchen counter top, her narrowed eyes fixed on the TV screen watching a video her son Nate had got her three Christmas's ago. An impossibly thin, impossibly flexible woman dressed in a leotard and matching tights was demonstrating positions no human being should ever get themselves into. The cigarette between her fingers moved mechanically between the ashtray before her and her pursed lips.

_What on earth had made her claim that she enjoyed yoga? It had been five months – okay a year since she had last attended a class._

Her counselor had claimed she needed to get out a bit. Meet more people. He had suggested she take a few classes to broaden her outlook. As she watched the screen and the positions woman on the screen was getting into, she was really beginning to wish she had never said she attended a yoga class when Fiona asked if she knew of one.

"Oh well, I could always call and cancel," she spoke to herself wistfully. Then she hardened, no she could do this, she had made a new friend and she was going to do her best not to let anything mess it up.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she went to find her leotard and leggings. An hour later after sorting through drawers, she found the items. Out of breath she sat down at the table and lit up another cigarette. Looking at the offending pieces of clothing, she reached a decision. Screwing up the clothes she threw them back in the drawer and reached for her phone.

"Hello? Fiona dear, I'm sorry I can't go the class tomorrow. My son Nate is going to come over and look at the car. It's the only time he has free and I can't go out and leave him alone," she lied convincingly.

"Madeline, you don't have to bother Nate. If you prefer, I'll come over and take another look at it for you," Fiona replied.

"Oh, I don't want to put you out." But Madeline was secretly pleased.

"Nonsense, you give that son of yours a call and tell him it's alright. Why disturb him so close to Christmas? I'll see you tomorrow."

"But yoga?"

"We can go another day. Getting your car fixed is far more important."

"Oh, thank you, dear. You're so understanding- I mean..."

"Think nothing of it, Madeline. I'll see you tomorrow."

Madeline wasn't even bothered that Fiona hung up on her.

**()**

Fiona looked at her phone and then dropped it back on her car seat. Tomorrow morning she was going to have to make sure she got over to Michael's mother's house early to remove the little piece of electronics she had wired into the Caddy's ignition system to make it cut out on command just in case Nate turned up and started nosing around.

**()()**

As they neared Sam's apartment, Michael slowed the car and brought it to a stop.

"I'll go into Pyne's tonight and come to see you in the morning. If I can help Javier, I'll do it. But I have to collect the money Pyne owes my client first."

Michael took a deep breath and then turned fully to face his friend. "I need to borrow your car. I could get another one, but with the feds on my tail..."

Sam gave him a slap on the arm. "That's okay, Mikey. I don't need it tonight. Drop it back in the morning." He opened the passenger door, preparing to climb out. "You sure you don't need my help tonight with this Pyne thing?"

"I'm sure, Sam," Michael smiled back.

Once out of the car, Sam leaned back inside. "Well, take care. I remember what it's like when you go to work. Somebody always starts shooting." He stood up, slamming the door shut.

Michael watched the older man walk the short distance to his luxury apartment building.

"Thanks, Sam," he muttered under his breath, thinking briefly about what he would be doing differently if it had been Sam who had found him unconscious in that motel room.

But now was not the time to think about 'what ifs'. If he was going to get everything done before he left to break into Pyne's mansion, he knew he was going to have to move quickly. Building an explosive device took time, even if it was a fake one. Pulling away from outside of Sam's apartment building, he drove over Biscayne Bay on the Julia Tuttle causeway heading for the Target store he had spotted on the return to Sam's from Little Havana.

_It was time to go shopping for that special attention grabbing gift for his ex-handler and possibly ex-friend, Dan Seibels._

Shopping had never been his thing and shopping at Christmas was something he hadn't done since he had left home at seventeen. Even back then he tended to get his gifts using the five finger discount. He had lost count of the number of stores and malls he and his group of friends had been banned from as teenagers and since leaving home he hadn't had the time or the inclination to shop.

With no close attachments and no visits home, he'd had no need to purchase meaningless presents. Virtually everything he required as a spy was supplied by filling out a requisition form and, when the item arrived, signing the receipt.

**()()**

An hour and half later, he picked up his box of supplies from the trunk of Sam's car and walked along the pavement back to the Miami Sands Motel. Shopping in Target just before Christmas had definitely been hell. He still felt a little shell shocked by the whole experience.

_Some people go to these places for fun?__I'd rather be__dropped back in that cave in Afghanistan than go through that again._

He pushed his way in between the drunken frat boys and wasted sorority girls who lined the steps leading up to his room.

_I mean, what's so difficult about getting what you need and getting out? And why did it seem everybody had to take half a dozen kids with them._

It had started with two women who had managed to block the entrance while they had stood gossiping, but not only them of course. It was their strollers and their kids, too. He remembered fearing that if they had friends on the exits, he could end up being trapped inside.

_Was the FBI hiring housewives nowadays? _

That, of course, had sent his paranoia into overdrive and he'd had to check out all the exits and note the positions of all the cameras before he even entered the crowded aisles.

Stepping inside his room he left his purchases on the bed while he locked the door and closed the curtains. _Finally he could relax._

After taking a couple of deep breaths, Michael emptied the box and sorted through his supplies, laying everything out ready to assemble his bomb. Waking up to a team from Homeland Security on his doorstep would give his old handler a small taste of what he was going through.

He knew any mail screening program was going to be looking for certain things so he was going to build something that would set the alarms ringing good and loud. The first step was to fix two short lengths of steel pipe to a ply wood base, along with a handy improvised mechanical timer made out of an old fashioned mousetrap.

Next, he unwrapped the action figure he had risked life and limb to claim.

_The toy aisle in Target had been filled with women of all shapes, sizes and ages and, hoards of screaming kids. Every time something small bumped into him, he had flinched. The howling wail of a toddler set his teeth on edge and when one woman started screeching at her little "Mikey," he had suffered a vivid flashback to his own childhood. He had actually looked around, half expecting to see his mother descending on him shrouded in a cloud of smoke. _

Pushing the image of his mother and the horrors of shopping aside, Michael began dismantling the action figure so he could attach the wires running from the doll's chest to the steel pipes and the mousetrap.

_This should get everybody nice and excited._ He grinned at what looked like a half decent facsimile of a home-made bomb.

Now for the finishing touch. A sprinkling of a Nitrogen based fertilizer, which would fool the chemical sniffers into thinking this innocent looking box was packed with Nitrogen dioxide, a common element in explosives. Scattering the chemical granules over the whole thing, Michael took a moment to admire his handiwork before placing it in the box.

With the box ready for shipping, Michael pulled an air bill out of his pocket, a small grin curving the corners of his mouth. This last part was to let Dan know exactly who had sent the device and give him a warning of what might happen if he continued to ignore 'an old friend'.

Filling in the air bill, Michael marked it "bill recipient" and filled in the account details with the numbers he had used countless times in the past. If this didn't get Dan to call him, it would be because he was sending a tac team to shoot him instead.

With a smug grin on his face, Michael placed the box by the door, ready to deposit into a UPS drop box he had already scouted on the way to Star Island. If this didn't work, then he would use Larry to help him travel north to DC and go raise some hell around the capital until he got what he wanted.

**()**

A glance at his watch told him he had several hours until it was going to be late enough for a little bit of breaking and entering. Lying down on top of the covers on his bed, he found his thoughts drifting back to his mother. It had been a long time since he had last spoken to her; maybe after he had sorted things out with the feds, he would give her a call. The music that had been a constant ever since he had got back to his room was getting louder as the party outside was now in full swing. Michael allowed his eyes to close. The noise of partying kids didn't bother him in the least.

_Once you've slept through a bombing raid or two, the beat of dance music being played full blast was a mere irritant_.

Another noise, different to the thudding bass sounds, alerted Michael to trouble. A faint scratching sound which he instantly recognized as a lock being picked, the lock to his room to be precise.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he frantically looked for something he could use as a weapon. The handle was turning; he had less than a second. He picked up the bedside lamp, ripping the cord from the wall and the shade off the lamp. As the door opened and a figure slipped inside, Michael brought his makeshift weapon up and then stopped.

"Larry? What are you doing here?" He placed the lamp on the table and eyed his old mentor warily.

Larry Sizemore closed the door and was now reading the address on the parcel balanced on the window sill.

"Dan Siebels, Michael? Really?" he asked with scorn in his eyes. "Do you really think that guy is going to be any help to you? He hasn't been out from behind his desk in five years."

"Larry, what are you doing here? I said I could handle everything."

Turning away from the parcel, Larry walked slowly around the room. He looked disappointed and, even though he was smiling, Michael knew the older man was masking his anger.

"Well, Kid, I was going to let you... But that was before I discovered you've been hanging around with Sam Axe and now you're playing games with your ex handler." Larry sent him a scathing look. "They burned you, abandoned you. Do you think for one minute Siebels is going to be your white knight? The guy is a bigger Boy Scout than that lush Axe."

"Siebels can get me the copy of the directive. He can get me the name of the man who issued the order," Michael snapped. He wasn't a kid any more. He had worked solo for far longer than he had been Larry's protégé. He shouldn't have to explain himself.

Larry laughed in his face. "_You_ still don't get it, do you, Kid? _If _you can get the man's name, what the hell are you going to do about it? Without my help, you won't make it out of the city."

He brought himself under control, smile firmly back in place, voice calm and reasonable.

"Do this job and I will pay you the money _and_ I will use my contacts to get you to DC _if_ that's what you really want."

Michael turned away taking a moment to calm himself down before turning back to fix his eyes on his old mentor. He hated how Larry was just assuming they would go back to the way things had been. He had changed. Away from Larry's influence, he had found his own methods of doing the job and it didn't involve quite so much bloodshed.

"What are you _really_ doing here, Lare? I said I'd visit Pyne's on my own. You don't need to watch my every move." But he had to admit it was hard to resist the urge to fall back into old patterns of behavior. Larry always made _his_ way sound so easy and it wasn't until you looked back that you discovered the amount of bodies piling up behind you.

"I thought I'd watch your back, Michael." Larry sat down and continued to look around the room, an amused smirk on his lips. "Why are you staying in this dump? I gave you enough money to book a decent hotel at least for a couple of days."

"Well, every decent hotel probably has a copy of my face on a FBI wanted poster thanks to you," Michael snapped back.

_H__e should have never asked for Larry's help. He didn't pull the trigger on those FBI agents, but he might as well have. "Shoot one, and set light to the other." What had he been thinking? Why did it have to be Larry that found him in that motel room?_

"So, let's get the paintings off Pyne, kill him and his bodyguard and be on our way." He glanced at his watch. "There's a boat leaving for Barbados in five hours. I have a man there who produces some fantastic legends, a full ID package at a very reasonable rate." Larry was in full salesman mode.

Michael paused. He was sorely tempted; a new identity and he could travel anywhere.

_He could go __visit Dan personally, teach his old handler about the meaning of loyalty. He would show them all, he would cut a bloody swathe through..._

He stopped the thoughts raging through his head. That wasn't him, not any more.

"We don't know for sure Pyne has the paintings. Torture takes time and is unreliable. Let me go in and see what I can find out quietly. No need to spook the target." Michael offered an alternative approach.

Larry looked at him as if he had grown a second head and then got to his feet. Stopping in front of Michael, he placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders.

"Okay, Kid, we'll try it your way." He patted Michael on the shoulders and then moved toward the door. "But I want this finished in the next twenty four hours. My client doesn't like to be kept waiting. If he has to he'll accept the return of his money and Pyne's head if we can't trace the paintings. But it will cost _you _some money."

"Twenty four hours? You never mentioned a deadline before?"

"No, I didn't, but I hadn't realized you had turned into such a Boy Scout. You've gone soft Michael. It's time to remember who you really are. The baby bird needs to come back to the nest. Sneak around in the bushes, and play secret agent if you want, but by this time tomorrow I want the art, the money and Pyne's dead body. Don't let me down, Kid."

Michael stared at the door as it closed on Larry's departing figure before sinking back on to his bed. "_Don't let me down." It was the line Larry used on reluctant or unreliable assets. It was his strongest threat. Larry didn't give second chances. "Don't let me down - or else."_

Michael got to his feet. Collecting Sam's car keys, he picked up the parcel and locked his room on his way out. For now he had no choice; he had made his bed so to speak. His only way out of the position he had got himself into was to get the burn notice rescinded and for that he needed money.

All he could do was try to keep the body count down and limit the collateral damage. With a bit of luck, he would find something useful in Pyne's safe. Something that he could use to prove Javier's innocence and hopefully get Pyne locked up for a long time.

While Michael was off committing a crime, Larry stationed himself across the street from a luxury apartment block. He watched patiently until he saw a tall man in a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt leave the building and then he slipped out of his car and followed at a distance. Sam Axe looked older. He was overweight, drinking far too much and not exercising.

He was really a prime candidate for a sudden heart attack.


	7. Chapter 7

**Two Hours Too Late.**

**A/N: I am so sorry I have left this story so long, I will try to do better in future. I'd also like to add thanks to Jedi Skysinger for BETAing this chapter for me.  
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**Chapter Seven,**

After ending her call with Madeline Westen, Fiona continued on her drive around some of the less salubrious areas of Miami. Her meeting at the Irish pub wasn't until 11 PM so she had plenty of time before hooking up with her friend Marcus' boy, Dougie, to do a little bit of last minute shopping for the perfect accessory to her outfit.

For a first date with a gunrunner, Fiona preferred something semi-automatic, untraceable and, if at all possible, free of charge. Especially now with most of her money tied up in New York and Dublin, she didn't have much left for all the little essentials. Besides, where was the fun in buying when you could steal?

Driving north away from the bright lights and high pedestrian areas of the beach, she eventually spotted exactly what she was looking for. Slowing down, she pulled into a parking spot just along the street from a badly lit strip mall with only a small convenience store still open.

Sitting in her 'borrowed' car, she took a moment to study what had drawn her to the spot: four young men hanging out in front of the store looking for trouble. All four were dressed in similar baggy, loose fitting pants and dark colored T-shirts. Then, as one of them moved, she caught the outline of a concealed handgun tucked into the back of his pants waistband.

"Ahh, there ya go. Come ta Mammy." Fiona's lips curved into a pleased smile, her instincts were never wrong.

With her eyes sparkling in anticipation of the fun to come, Fiona climbed out of her car and sauntered past the group, making sure they got a good look at her petite frame and what appeared to be a wallet full of cash. This was just what she needed, a nice little warm up to loosen up her muscles before the main attraction.

Entering the store, she smiled at the cashier and took a slow walk around the aisles, her eyes lighting up when she spotted an old favorite from her teenage years in Belfast: a cheap but highly flammable brand of vodka ideal for making Molotov cocktails. Picking up a bottle, she stared at the label remembering summer nights out on the streets with her brothers, using exactly the same make of spirits to set light to the British Army armored trucks that accompanied the patrols.

Looking out at the four kids still hanging around the front of the store, she gave a wistful sigh before placing the bottle carefully back on the shelf. She wasn't in Northern Ireland anymore and those boys were not British soldiers.

Returning to her perusal of the stores meager contents, Fiona eventually picked up a pack of new hair clips and, after paying for them, walked confidently out into the open and towards where she had left her car.

As she strolled along the badly lit pavement, Fiona could feel her whole body humming as she thought about what was about to happen.

_Tonight is going to be a very good night indeed_.

She felt rather than saw the group following her. A sudden rush of feet and the first one pounced, grabbing her from behind. He fell back almost immediately when simultaneously her heel stamped down on his instep and her sharp bony elbow was firmly driven into his solar plexus. Spinning around, she finished him with a kick to the head which laid him out flat.

The other three were momentarily stunned that one tiny woman had laid out their friend in less than two seconds. But the shock wore off quickly as the one with the gun stepped forward his weapon aimed straight at her head.

He stepped closer, his face screwed up in anger and he snarled out some threat which she supposed was meant to make her cower in submission. Instead she brought her foot up smartly in a kick that dropped him to his knees with his eyes watering. From that position, he was unaware of the gun being snatched from his hand.

Holding the gun to its previous owner's head, Fiona smiled at the remaining two would be attackers.

"Back off, boys," she ordered, though the look on her face made it abundantly clear she was happy to continue the fight.

"You know who you're messin' with lady?" the one at her feet demanded.

"No," Fiona replied. "Nor do I care, but you should, because your friend here is about to lose his life if you don't back off."

When nobody made a move, Fiona decided to help them on their way by firing into the ground near their feet. Seconds later all four were running away, or rather two were running and the other two staggering.

Watching her attackers flee, Fiona ejected the clip from her newly acquired handgun, a pretty Beretta 92f. Checking the bullets, she counted five, plus one in the chamber. Pursing her lips, she pushed the clip back into place. Well, it was better than nothing.

Dropping the gun into her purse, the rest of the journey to her car was made without incident. With final check of her watch she drove away in the direction of Brickell to meet Marcus's boy, Dougie.

()()

Sam Axe didn't deserve the effort it would take to get a dose of poison into his food or drink. Putting him down would definitely be a kindness, though maybe just a straight forward bullet between the eyes would end his, and everybody's who had to watch him eat, misery.

That was the conclusion Larry Sizemore came to as he watched the ex SEAL tear into a bloody steak and a plate full of home fries. Larry had never liked the other man, but he did give him some very grudging respect. As a nurse maid, Axe wasn't completely useless. He was also pretty handy if you needed somebody to carry your guns and he was capable of kicking a hole in a door. But now, Larry shook his head in disgust.

A bullet would definitely be a kindness. It would be like putting an old dog down. Unfortunately, Larry didn't do kindness; he was already thinking about setting up an ambush. The longer he stood in the shadows watching the man guzzle down beer and stuff food into his mouth, the more he thought about making the man suffer.

Sinking a knife into Axe's kidneys would be far more satisfying and, if he did it just right, Sam would die in agony. Then it would just be a case of talking Michael into blowing town and, once he was out of Miami, the Kid would have no choice but to do as he was told. It would be just like the old days.

Turning away Larry was on his way to find the perfect ambush spot when he spotted a beige Ford four door sedan pulling up to the curb. Two men got out and walked with a purpose over to the diner where Sam sat demolishing his meal. Larry watched in amazement as the men walked inside and boldly took seats facing the ex-SEAL.

Axe must have invited them... This was interesting.

Larry's mind quickly analyzed the whole scene. Government plates on the car, two men one several years older than the other. Both wearing cheap suits and loafers. Larry's grin nearly split his face in two.

_Oh, this is too good to be true._

He pulled out his cell phone and, as the three men were too busy talking to notice him, he crossed the street and risked walking right by the window taking photographs of the trio in passing. _Once Michael knows Axe is informing on him to the feds, the Kid will kill the useless wet rag himself._

After taking the photos, Larry knew he needed more evidence. For some strange reason, his Kid had a soft spot for Axe. Striding down the street, he made his way back to Sam's apartment building. It was time to go to work.

Larry had been keeping an eye on Sam ever since he had seen him outside Pyne's mansion and had already used a full blown charm offensive against the building manager's wife to discover which unit belonged to Commander Axe and all the latest gossip about the other residents.

Straightening his jacket, Larry pressed the button for the manager on the intercom.

"Hello?" It wasn't the wife this time but that didn't deter Larry.

"Hi there," he answered cheerfully. Remembering all the complaints the bored and desperate Mrs. Blanchard had made against a resident on the second floor, he said, "The lady in two eleven ordered a P-"

"Goddammit," the voice grumbled. The entry buzzer sounded. "Go on up."

"Thank you," Larry sang into the microphone. When he had finished with Axe he would come back and visit with the building manager and his wife; leaving no witnesses was one of his strictest rules.

It took him less than twenty seconds to pick the lock and then he was inside Sam Axe's home. The apartment was – a surprise, pizza boxes, empty beer bottles, clothes both dirty and clean were strewn about the place.

_What had happened to the years of military training? Axe had turned into a complete slob._

Wrinkling his nose in distaste, the undead spy set to work. It took him less than ten minutes to download the hard drive off a laptop he found near the bed, plant a bug in the phone and complete a rapid search of all the cupboards and drawers in the small apartment. He came up with precisely nothing of interest. Scowling, he made a quick check that the apartment was exactly as he found it. If there is nothing on the drive, somebody was going to have to pay for this. He pushed the image of searching through Sam Axe's underwear drawer to a deep recess in his mind.

The only bright spot of the evening as far as he was concerned was that by the time the Pyne job was finished he would have enough on Axe to convince Michael to kill the pain in the ass nurse maid himself.

()()

After dropping off his fake bomb in the UPS drop box, Michael drove across to Star Island to do his own bit of breaking and entering. Unlike Larry, he hadn't had to work for the information he needed. Sam had done all the leg work for him, getting him everything he needed for committing a trouble free crime.

On the way back to Sam's apartment after visiting Javier, Sam had filled him with the details.

"_Pyne and his latest lady friend will be dining out tonight__,_ _Mikey, and then they usually go onto one of the clubs. Javier says they normally get back between two and three in the a.m. Oh they take the bodyguard with them. Pyne likes to look like the type of guy who needs muscle."_

As he talked, Sam had produced a piece of paper with a floor plan of the mansion and then started tapping the keys on his phone.

"_Here's the map of the place and I'm texting you the alarm codes and the times of the guards' walk__-__throughs."_

As Michael let himself into Pyne' mansion, he couldn't help but think about all the tactical support Sam had given him for this one little job. The guy had definitely let himself go, but he still knew how to run an operation. It had to be years since he had gone to work with so much detailed assistance.

Opening the fridge, Michael smiled as his eyes lighted on a blueberry yogurt. If one of the three security guards on the property decided to break protocol, he wanted to look like a legitimate guest; at least until he could get close enough to put the guard down.

Luckily for all concerned, Michael remained undetected. After a quick and thorough search of the downstairs, he made his way over to the safe. He had already decided the robbery was bogus. The place was covered in paintings and ornaments which had to be worth millions. If you were going to break into a place like this, you wouldn't take one painting from one room then one from another and then go upstairs to take jewelry from somewhere else.

Kneeling down in front of the safe, it only took seconds to get the door open.

"Thank you Sam," he muttered as he realized how long it would have taken him to break the safe if Sam hadn't supplied him with the putty to make a copy of Pyne's fingerprint off the reader.

With the safe open, he dragged out all the paperwork he found and photographed each page. There was no time to read it all now. They could download the pictures from his phone onto Sam's laptop and analyze the documents at their leisure.

Before he left, Michael made sure there was no trace that Pyne had had any unwelcome visitors. With everything back in place, he sneaked out the same way he had sneaked in and drove back to the Miami Sands Motel.

The place was still one big party zone. He made his way up to his room, fighting his way past drunken kids dancing the night away out in front of the building, tiptoeing around couples making out on the steps and finally making it to the relative safety of his room.

Slipping into the sweat pants he'd acquired the previous day with the money Larry had given him, Michael lay on top of the covers and with his arm flung over his face tried to block out the noise coming from outside and get some much needed sleep. Half an hour later, he was still awake as his mind refused to shut down. In the morning, he was going to have no choice but to do what Larry asked. From little bits he read as taking photographs of Pyne's financial information, the man didn't have the liquid assets to pay his debts.

The paintings were most likely in one of the lock ups or safe deposit boxes Pyne had all over the city, which meant he was going to have to get the location off Pyne before he took the man's life in lieu of his debts.

He didn't want to kill Pyne. The man was greedy and probably deserved a nice long jail sentence to think about how wrong it was to ruin other peoples' lives. But he didn't deserve a bullet to the head. Equally, Michael knew the penalty for disobeying a direct order from Larry Sizemore.

Years ago he could have trusted that Larry would not actually kill him regardless of how badly he let the older man down but not now. Michael was older and wiser and now realized what virtually every other person who'd had dealings with Sizemore already knew to be true; the guy was a sociopath.

He was still awake when the noise from outside died away and sunlight was creeping through the cracks in the curtains. The sound of his phone ringing broke through his thoughts and he gratefully pressed the accept button.

"Hello?" He sat up rubbing at his eyes.

"Three hours, Michael. That's how long I've just spent discussing your little present with the FBI. They were wondering why somebody was sending me a pipe bomb through the mail with no explosives in it."

Michael was now fully alert. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 6:00 AM. "I thought it would get your attention. So, tell me, what's going on?"

"I should be asking you that question, two dead FBI agents? What were you thinking, Michael?"

"I didn't - it wasn't me," he protested his innocence, all the while trying to control the urge to rage at his handler. _I've done nothing wrong. Why are you all doing this to me?_

"If it wasn't you, you need to stop foolin' around and speak to the Feds. The longer you're in hiding, the harder it'll be to prove your innocence."

"I'll think about it." Michael took a breath and closed his eyes. He had to keep calm and try to get Dan on his side. "What about the burn notice? Can you help me with that?"

"I don't know. I don't control these things."

"Can you tell me who to talk to? Or do I need to come up to DC and raise a little hell." He couldn't help the threat. _It was so unfair._

"Don't do that, Michael. You're on all the FBI watch lists. You go anywhere and they're all over you."

"What for? I swear, Dan, I didn't kill those agents."

"You were already on the lists. This is all about the burn notice, Michael. All I know whoever did this wants you on ice. You leave Miami, you heat up fast. We're talking police manhunt in every state."

"I've been through it. I can handle it." _I'll have Larry backing me up._

"Where? Bulgaria?" Dan snorted. "This is different. This is Fox News vans on your Mom's lawn. Things may change, but for now be smart. Clear up this latest mess and then lay low."

Michael paused, His Mom. He hadn't given any thought to what his circumstances might be doing to his mother. _They will have been to the house... She knows I'm back... Damn!_

"Can I at least see the burn notice? Can you do that for me? If I could see who issued it, I might be able to do something about it." _Now I sound_ _like a whiny little girl. _

"I risked enough just calling. Look, Michael, some of us are still on your side, but you pull another stunt like this and I won't be one of them. Talk to the Feds. It'll be worse if they have to hunt you down."

The line went dead and, after a few seconds, Michael dropped his phone on the bed and rested his head in his hands. He was going to have to meet up with Sam to go through what he found inside Pyne's and then hold a separate meeting with Larry.

But before he did that, he was going to go and see his mom.


End file.
